


make believe you're close to me

by vlieger



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:49:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3115580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Blackhawks v Preds, 23-10-2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make believe you're close to me

James messages Paulie after he's stripped off his pads, before the media gets to him. He sends off a quick _I scored a hattrick against the fuckin hawks and you still havent called paulie wtf,_ grinning as he imagines Paulie's face when he reads it.

He doesn't have time to check for a response until he's on his way out of the arena, and it's basically what he predicted: _It's been literally ten minutes since you came off the ice, Nealer._

He gives his phone an embarrassingly fond look, and sends back, _Uh huh where's my call??_

 _Let me know when you get home_ , says Paulie. He's almost definitely rolling his eyes. _If you're too drunk to talk I'm hanging up on you._

 _Paulieeeee,_ he sends back, because he knows Paulie's relying on him to be a bit of a shit, and he hates disappointing Paulie. _I scored a HAT TRICK._ And also, because it occurs to him and it's an awesome idea, _Wait does that mean we're gonna have phone sex?_

 _Congratulations, Nealer,_ sends Paulie, totally ignoring his second text. 

James doesn't mind; he knows it's not a 'no.'

 

He doesn't go straight home, heads out for a few drinks with some of the guys, because he should and because he wants to. It's good, better than he thought it would be so soon, the hockey and the city and his teammates. It's easy to play well and make friends and feel _hopeful._ Part of this is because it turns out Nashville is actually a pretty awesome place to live, and the other part is Paulie. Somehow, and he's not entirely sure how he managed it, he's got himself a new start but also still kept the most important thing he would've been leaving behind. It sucks that Paulie isn't _here_ , definitely, but he's still-- he's still Paulie, still James' person, and James still gets breakfasts over Skype and fond, sarcastic replies to his texts, still gets Paulie's voice pressed soft and low against his ear before he falls asleep. 

Paulie makes it easy to let Nashville be easy, and James is just-- just glad he can enjoy this without worrying about Pittsburgh, glad that Paulie is so endlessly awesome and uncomplicated and comfortable, glad he knows now that five hundred and sixty miles and a lot less touching than he'd prefer can't make the bone-deep feeling of rightness and contentment and _happiness_ Paulie sets off in him turn sour. 

They hit up a bar that isn't too crazy and James doesn't go too hard; if he's going to drink in excess he's much more the kind of person to do it after a loss than a win, never mind a win where he scored all three of the goals. The high of that is enough on its own, and he's not really superstitious at all but it still seems like an unnecessary check to his luck. Probably he's been around Sid too long, but whatever. Poking at good form with too much alcohol and the subsequent dumb decisions and hangovers isn't really his style, either. Not really ever but especially not when he's just starting out somewhere new, when it's still unexpected to be doing this well, at least this early on. Fucking awesome, but unexpected. 

He makes it home sometime after one in the morning, fumbling his phone out of his pocket as soon as his bedroom door is closed behind him and hitting call.

Paulie's an hour ahead of him, so he's almost definitely asleep, but James is pretty sure he'll answer anyway. He does, mumbling a sleep-rough, "Hey," and even that makes James smile, flushed a little with alcohol and giddiness, because Paulie was _expecting_ him. 

"Hey," says James breathlessly. "Hey, Paulie, I got a hat trick."

"I know," says Paulie fondly. "I already said congratulations."

James grins, flopping down onto his bed and kicking his shoes off. He unbuttons his jeans for good measure. "No," he says, "You typed it in your phone. You didn't say it to _me_."

"Wow," says Paulie, sounding like he's smiling, "You used logic to prove your point. That's impressive on a regular day, nevermind when you're hammered."

"Fuck you," says James indignantly. "I'm not hammered. Only had a few."

"Yeah?" says Paulie. "Had fun?"

"Yeah," says James. "Nashville's pretty nice. You should come here properly, in summer."

"You're gonna stick around there for the summer?" says Paulie.

James hums. "Dunno," he says. "Gonna go home, obviously. And see you. But you should totally come check it out. I live here, right? That's important. Want you to come."

"Okay," says Paulie easily. "We'll figure something out."

"Awesome," says James. He smiles at the ceiling and palms idly over his stomach. "Hey, we should make out. Now. If you were here, I mean. I wanna make out with you."

"Yeah," says Paulie, letting out a breath in James' ear.

"My bed is so nice," says James. "I'm on it right now and it's just so-- it's such a super comfortable bed and it's awesome, but also still kinda not right 'cause you're not on it too."

"Nealer," says Paulie quietly.

"Well," amends James, rucking his shirt up a little further, "Actually you wouldn't be on the bed, you'd be on me, 'cause we'd be making out and I want you on top."

That makes Paulie laugh, and he says, "Yeah, you want that?"

"Yeah," says James. "Want you to fuck me, Paulie."

Paulie hums, and James hears a promising rustle on his end of the line. "How?" he says.

"Hard," says James firmly, sliding his hand into his jeans, just teasing, cupping his cock through his briefs, stroking his thumb along the swollen vein. It makes him shiver. "Really hard. Want your mouth while you get me ready. You still got the beard?"

"No," says Paulie, laughing. "I had to shave for the Halloween thing, remember?"

James makes a sad noise, and Paulie laughs again.

"You okay with hickeys instead of beard burn?"

James groans. "Fuck yeah," he says. "On my thighs, where I can feel it. Wanna feel it."

"Yeah?" says Paulie, hoarse. "Want me to hold you down?"

"Yes," breathes James, sticking his hand into his briefs without much finesse, but God, he's suddenly so fucking hard, on-edge and leaking. "I want that," he adds. "Wanna feel you _everywhere_. Wish you could do it now so I could feel it in my wrists next time I jerk off. So I can feel it every time I move, feel your dick in me, Paulie, I want-- "

"I'll do it when I'm there," promises Paulie. James hears his breath hitch, and maybe-- he strains to hear-- the slide of skin on skin. He groans. "Give you something to last." 

"Mmm," says James. He closes his eyes and pictures Paulie jerking himself off, half-bare and sleep-mussed in his bed, his house in Pittsburgh. He _wants_ that so bad, always wants it, like this constant hum of adrenaline under his skin. It doesn't really make it harder, doing his thing in Nashville, because Paulie is still _his_ and it's great and that's the most important thing, but it definitely surges up when he's getting off without Paulie actually here, when it's dark and quiet and he wants Paulie in his space the most. With his eyes shut he can imagine that in this moment they're together, imagine the sheets are warm from Paulie's body, imagine the fingers wrapped around his cock are Paulie's, not his own. Imagine that Paulie's just about to lean in and kiss him, pull all the air from his lungs. "Fuck, Paulie. Beard burn _and_ hickeys."

Paulie huffs a strained laugh. "How you gonna explain that in the locker room?"

"Don't care," gasps James. "I'll think of something. Paulie, are you-- "

"Yeah," breathes Paulie. "Yeah, of course. Fuck, James-- "

"I'm so hard," whispers James, desperate and breathless. He squeezes his dick and presses his thumb under the head like Paulie does for him, fucking up with his hips, working his hand fast, barely any rhythm but so good. He thinks about fingering himself but he's too close, too clumsy and loathe to move away from the cocoon of his hand and his bed and Paulie in his ear. "So fucking hard, Paulie, I can't-- I want you to _fuck_ me, you-- "

" _James_ ," says Paulie desperately.

"Yeah," says James, "Yeah, yeah, come on, let me hear you come, Paulie, please."

Paulie groans, low and cracked, a quiet rush of gorgeous relief in James' ear, and that's all it takes for James to lose it too, coming hard all over his hand, wringing it all out ruthlessly.

When he blinks back to it he's breathing hard, hot and damp and sated, tinged at the edges with the promise of Paulie's hands on him soon, Paulie taking him apart and putting him back together, Paulie's skin and his mouth and his everything here on James, in James' bed.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Fuck, you good?"

"Yeah," says Paulie, chuckling quietly. "I'm good, James."

"Good," says James. "Me too. Well, for now."

Paulie snorts, and then he says, "You should go to sleep, Nealer."

"Yeah," agrees James, sighing. "Hey, thanks. That was-- that was awesome. I miss you."

"Me too," says Paulie after a moment, warm and fond. "Hey, Nealer?"

"Hmm," says James, yawning.

"Congratulations," says Paulie. "You were great."

"I fucking know," says James, grinning stupidly, and knows that Paulie is _definitely_ rolling his eyes.

"Go to sleep, you moron," he tells James.

"Yeah, okay," says James. "Love you, asshole."

"You too," says Paulie, and hangs up.

James falls asleep smiling.


End file.
